A Prophecy
by threadcount
Summary: The Hero of Kvatch, atoning for her life as a member of the Black Hand, helps Martin Septim save Tamriel from the chaotic Daedric Prince, Mehrunes Dagon. Together, they fulfill the prophecy given by a mage a long time ago, relying on each other in more ways than one...
1. Before the Great Gate

_Author's Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction using The Elder Scrolls universe made by Bethesda. I don't own anything here- not Oblivion, not the Elder Scrolls series, not the characters, and this work is purely for entertainment and not for financial purposes._

* * *

I run out of the temple into the night as fast as my feet can carry me, practically tripping over my robes. I have to get out. I have to think. I have to brace myself.

The cold air stings my cheeks as my footfalls echo along the stone. I race all the way up to a lookout tower and breathe in the freezing air with relief. How I long for the cold: the fires of Oblivion are a constant source of nightmares whether I'm awake or asleep. The more Gates I close, the more I can't push away the memories of blistering pain on my skin, fire in my lungs as I choke in the heat, flames filling up the pit of my stomach. My brain always tells me not to breathe due to the pain, but I have to force myself to breathe anyway.

Now they're telling me that I, alone, have to go into a Great Gate and stop the invasion of Bruma. I'm truly afraid. The small Gates are terrifying, painful enough. I can't imagine what a Great Gate will be like.

"Akatosh help me," I whisper under my breath. "I don't think I can do this." There are drifts of snow hitting my cheeks, and I raise my face gratefully to the cold. I have to revel in this now, before the searing heat must overtake me again.

"I'm sorry," a voice says quietly from behind me. When I whirl around, Martin is standing there. He looks as worried as I feel. "I don't want to do this to you. I'd say we don't have any other choice, but I know that's not much of a comfort to either of us."

I do my best to smile at him. He's right. Just because the aedra have chosen us to do these things, it doesn't make the execution any easier. There's still fear and uncertainty and struggle.

He takes a small step closer, his arm outstretched, and for once in my life, I accept another human's touch. When I place my hand carefully in his, he pulls me to him in a fierce hug.

"I am sorry, dear friend. We've both been thrown into responsibilities that seem impossible. I don't know why these tasks fall to us, why the Divine chose us for these burdens. The only reason I can think of is because we'll succeed where others have failed."

I must have made some disbelieving sound, because he squeezes me a little tighter. "Think about it. Look at all we've done thus far. I've become an Emperor in spite of myself. You've completed every task I've set before you in all my incompetence." He laughs a little. "If you've come this far despite the overwhelming odds, maybe the gods know you'll fight until the end. Maybe they know that the two of us are the only ones who can stop the chaos."

I pull my face up from his chest to look at him accusingly. "How is that the case? You have Septim blood in you, regardless of your life before you learned of your father. I…I was a…" I stop, step back, attempting to form the words. "A…I was a killer. An assassin. A follower of Sithis. Someone like me cannot be chosen or loved by the aedra."

He considers for a moment, watching me with his gray-blue eyes as I struggle to calm myself. I know that I'll die, gladly, serving Martin and seeing him ascend to rule, but the knowledge that I am nothing, that I am irredeemable, is dreadful.

I look up, and flickers of sadness, regret, hesitation, determination flash across his face. Eventually, he reaches up and brushes his forefinger and thumb along the sides of my chin. He's never touched me like this before. "That's not true. Yes, your past is stained, as is mine, but you and I have both atoned for our service to the daedra." His eyes flick down to the hilt of the Ebony Blade on my hip. "We're using our past service, our knowledge of the daedra and the rewards we received from them, for the aedra now. For the good of Cyrodil. Despite what you've done, think of how you've come back from it. You've saved so many people." He hesitates, and then his voice drops. "In ways you cannot fathom, you've saved me."

We're looking at each other, two people with the dawning realization of things we'd known but not acknowledged before. He reaches toward me, and I'm in his arms again, with his mouth urgent on mine. I don't feel the falling snow anymore. The looming image of the Great Gate fades away, and the only thing I'm praying for now is for him not to let go.

He doesn't for a long while. The kiss is slow and careful and sweet, as if there was no rush against time like there had been since we'd met. But eventually, reluctantly, he pulls away. He doesn't say it, or any of the things he could, because I already know. We depend on each other completely now. He loves me, and he's all that I have.

He's clearly thinking the same things I am, and he only moves his forehead to touch mine, eyes closed. We stay that way for a while, our breaths and fears and hopes mingling, just us, without aedra or daedra or kingdoms at our backs. And just for this brief window of time, I feel safe.

When we finally walk back into the temple for the night, the reality begins to set back in, but we do our best to hide it. As he leaves for his room, my dread slowly returns. Yet now, despite it all, I have a memory that will stay with me until I die- whether it's tomorrow or years down the road.

And for now, it's enough.


	2. The End of Paradise

There is to be a dinner party at Cloud Ruler Temple tonight. Jauffre says that, politically, there are gains to be had by inviting each Count and Countess to visit the new Emperor, which will be revealed in time. He won't tell me anything else, much to my frustration, except that as the Hero of Kvatch, I must look 'decent' for the high-class company.

Naturally, this means that I am scrubbed within an inch of my life in stinging cold water, my tangled mass of hair brushed out, odd oils and lotions applied to my wrists and throat and underarms. Caroline and Jena, as the only two Blades in the Temple, are clearly enjoying this far too much, and pick out some velvety blue thing for me to wear without any armor added at all. It's long-sleeved, terribly formfitting from my waist up, and flows out into a silly flounce at the bottom. I am practically sullen by the time they weave some sort of blue chain adornment into my hair and shoo me out of the room.

When I open the door to the main hall, there is a fire blazing that highlights the crowded room full of guests. Martin, lucky man that he is, did not take nearly as long to look decent, and his outfit is his father's set of robes. Not formfitting in the chest at all.

He notices me first, and his eyes widen larger than I've ever seen before. Though he is supposed to introduce me, he doesn't move. Eventually, Jauffre gallantly comes to take my arm and walk me over to the Counts and Countesses.

"You were allowed to wear armor," I say under my breath to him as we approach. "Why must I wear this?"

"Because, dear child, I am merely a Blade. You are the Hero of Kvatch. Although you have met most of them before, tonight you must be introduced as Martin's support."

He pats my arm in patronizing amusement, then grandly introduces me, step by step, to each Count and Countess. Alessia Caro gives me her typical well-cultivated smile, belying the cruel nature under the surface, while Millona Umbranox gives me a sincere handshake. I'd never met Andel Indarys before, despite his…dealings with my guild in Cheydinhal, and he simpers as much as I'd expected. Even Janus Hassildor has attended, although he sits in a strategic location shadowed from the light. He gives me a curt nod when we are introduced, though we've known each other well ever since I had a nasty run-in with a fanged woman in a cavern.

After each portion of small talk is given, Jauffre leads me up to Narina Carvain, the Countess of Bruma herself, who is standing close to Martin and laughing at something he'd said. The Countess surveys me with cunning brown eyes amidst her pleasant expression while Jauffre presents me. Martin has become motionless again, and he almost looks ill.

"Oh, no need to introduce us, Grandmaster. She and I made a little deal a while back. My Akaviri collection is complete thanks to her."

"I'm flattered that you remember me, Countess," I say in my best courteous tone. It's too stiff, but assassinating targets and shooting scamps from high altitudes doesn't exactly contribute to high society mannerisms. "I was happy to assist."

"Well between this and helping Martin, you've become quite the benefit." She lays a hand on Martin's arm and gives it a little squeeze. I just manage to tear my eyes away before my notice becomes too apparent. "Without you, he may still have been in that church in Kvatch."

Regulus Terentius, from behind my shoulder, halts mid-drink from his rather large cup of wine. "By the Nine, how dreadful that would have been! Stuck in that dirty place! And all that fire! It's good that she came to save you!"

Martin has apparently regained himself, and he looks up with dry amusement. "Indeed, sir. When she came through the doors I thought Dibella herself had come to find me."

Old Countess Valga sighs whimsically, and Martin smiles down at me. I give him a subtle roll of my eyes in return. He knows as well as I that such silliness would never be tolerated in normal company. As I look at him, however, his expression becomes pained before he turns his head again to speak to Narina. I dare not ask what is wrong, though under any other circumstance I would have pestered him until I found out. Before I can work up the courage to ask him to see me in private, the bell rings for dinner.

Martin sits at the head of the table, while I'm on one side of him. I'm already detecting a pattern when Narina sits at his other side. Thus far, this night has been nothing but uncomfortable in a couple of ways.

The ruler in Martin comes over his posture, and he stands to address everyone in a smooth tone. "Counts and Countesses, I sincerely thank you for attending on such short notice. I am honored to be in your presence tonight. Our vast lands are in crisis, Oblivion threatens to overrun our people, and great forces beyond us all are at war. But I promise that the Blades, the Hero of Kvatch, and myself will fight with all our power to stop this invasion. And once the Dragonfires have been relit, I shall do my best to help rebuild Tamriel as your new Emperor."

I smile down at my lap. This is a far cry from the speech he gave the Blades when we first arrived at Cloud Ruler Temple.

"_I know you all expect me to be Emperor. I'll do my best. But this is all new to me. I'm not used to giving speeches. But I wanted you to know that I appreciate your welcome here. I hope I prove myself worthy of your loyalty in the coming days. …That's it. Thank you."_

_ I'm silently clapping at him as he joins me on the steps, the Blades dispersing. "Not much of a speech, was it? Didn't seem to bother them, though."_

_ "Rather good, I'd say, for someone who's never been an Emperor before."_

The entire dinner party is applauding, and when it dies down, Martin continues. "As you all know, I've not been in authority for very long, so I can understand the misgivings some of you may have about me. I will do my best to be a good and just Emperor, and by spending more time with all of you, I 'd like to at least pick up on some of your abilities as leaders."

_"I appreciate that. This is all so strange…the Blades saluting me and hailing me as Martin Septim...they want an Emperor to tell them what to do. And I haven't the faintest idea…"_

"In fact, it is my intention to spend a great deal of time with one of you all in particular, with the hope that her fighting spirit and intellect will bring me to higher achievements as a ruler."

_"We need to get the Amulet back," I probe gently._

_ "Of course!" His voice fills with relief. "So we…I…can take it to the Temple of the One and light the Dragonfires. And stop the Oblivion invasion."_

"So if she would rise, I would like to officially present, to all of you, my intention to marry this wonderful woman."

Down the table, the Counts and Countesses are watching me expectantly. I turn to look up at Martin, whose jaw is clenched tight as he regards me with struggle clear on his face.

Narina stands to her feet.

"_And then you will be the Emperor."_

"_The Emperor…that's an idea that will take some getting used to." _

Jauffre stands. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd like to formally announce the engagement of future Emperor Martin Septim to Narina Carvain, Countess of Bruma."

There are cheers, ranging from the table to the Blades standing along the walls, that are so loud the sound bounces against the rafters in the ceiling. I'm only staring hard at the white, clenched hands twisted up in my lap.

_He laughs low in his throat. "If it weren't for you, I 'd likely be dead, but you certainly have changed my entire life just by showing up."_

_I bow, which only makes him chuckle more. "Glad to be of service, Highness."_

"Now, let's enjoy dinner," Martin says, he and his new fiancé sitting again. "I'm sure we're all looking forward to ending formalities for an evening."

_"Well, go on. I know Jauffre needs to speak with you about what to do now that I've arrived. Do not worry about me, my friend. I am in safe hands here."_

_ He seems rather lost as a few Blades escort him into the Temple, but the look of reassurance he gives me over his shoulder is enough to back up his words. I'm still smiling when I go to find the Grandmaster._

* * *

I've changed out of my silly gown into a simple undershirt and loose wool pants, and I'm looking into the fireplace as the grand flames consume the wood underneath. My mind is stumbling over itself, struggling to process what has occurred and doing a poor job. Tonight there were many things I found out, and none of them good.

I'd known he was essential to a great deal before. I'd known he was crucial to the preservation and salvation of Cyrodil, vital as the last in the line of Septims. But now, he is everything. He's the only hope of a suffering land, the last of a royal blood, and vital to my own life. We need each other in every way I can imagine, and now, once the crisis is over, he'll be taken away from me.

Then again, I doubt I'll even live long enough to see him marry. The only thing I should worry about now is how to ensure that Tamriel survives.

**_Let me __see __your __hand__. I see the City in the Hand, and the Hand in the Stars. __The tower guards the gate, but the Gate holds the key. The King is the Key, and the __Hand __guards the King._**

Dagail's prophecy, spoken so long ago, is making sense now. The Great Gate holds the key to paradise, the Great Sigil Stone. Martin, the King, is the Key to stopping Oblivion. Our fate is in the stars, written before we were born. Bruma is the city, the link, and the fate of it rested in our ability to preserve it. And I guard the King.

I wish with all my heart that the prophecy went on to show whether Martin and I would be successful to the end. Failure to stop Mehrunes Dagon couldn't be allowed, yet it would be so easy to fail. I was able to close the Great Gate, but who knows what could happen when I try to stop Mankar Camoran?

When I surface from my thoughts, Jauffre is standing beside me at the fire, his hands crossed behind his back in a formal posture. "You know why we had to do that, I assume?"

"Do what?" By the Nine, I am terrible at feigning innocence.

"Many of the Counts and Countesses strongly objected to Martin ascending to rule, due to his lack of breeding and his sudden appearance. Royalty can be difficult to please like that. The union of Narina and Martin ensures that the rest will accept him as one of them, which is essential if he is to be a successful Emperor. They'd already warmed up to him after the announcement, if you noticed."

"Yes. I noticed." I hadn't. I'd been staring at my lap the whole time.

"It's purely a political move, but Narina seems affectionate enough with him. Or, at the very least, is attracted to his power enough that she can pretend. His marrying a Countess will be beneficial to both of them." He gives me a sideways glance, his subtlety unnecessary. "Naturally, there is no other type of bride Martin could have. Anyone else would be too below him."

"Of course." I heartily disagree.

"Now get some rest. There is a great deal to do tomorrow, so you must not be tired. You're going to Paradise, after all."

When he's gone, I blow out the breath I'd been accidentally holding and throw a stick into the fire with perhaps more spirit than absolutely necessary. He's completely right, about everything, and it ensures that I'll be in a foul temper tonight.


	3. Halls of the Divine

"I know that you are here, little cat's paw of the Septims. There is no use hiding from me."

I emerge from the shadows at the entrance, bow drawn taut with my arrow aimed directly at Camoran's heart. He is rising from his throne now, the Amulet of Kings hung about his neck catching the light from the windows. My string draws back farther. He scoffs, and his three followers laugh. "You truly are a fool, a sacrificial pawn of the aedra. My Father has brought me to immortality in His limitless ambition. Your man-made weapon will not harm me."

"That may be your opinion, but just by believing it wholeheartedly you do not make it true."

"The same could be said of you, little pawn. You are the last gasp of a dying age. You breathe the stale air of false hope. How little you understand! You cannot stop Lord Dagon. The walls between our worlds are crumbling. Soon, very soon, the lines now blurred will be erased. Tamriel and Oblivion rejoined! Lord Dagon shall walk Tamriel again!"

My arm is trembling from the exertion, but my aim is still steady on Camoran. The Altmer sweeps into a low bow and draws up his staff. "My long duel with the Septims is over, and I have the mastery. The Emperor is dead. The Amulet of Kings is mine. And the last defender of the last ragged Septim stands before me, in the heart of my power. Let us see who at last has proved the stronger!"

I dart to the left as Camoran sends a blizzard spell from his staff, drawing my bow back and hitting the heart of one Mythic Dawn member who goes down instantly. I drop Shadowrend and the Ebony blade rings out just in time to block an enchanted dagger. The wielder dies before he can swing again. I cut to the right when a fireball zooms just past my temple, picking up the dropped dagger and throwing it into the magic-wielding follower.

Camoran, blind from all the fanatic lies he'd dwelled in for so many years, does not hesitate to send a vicious lightning spell at me, which I sidestep easily. I've killed enough mages to know that in close range, they are helpless.

He is rash in his believed immortality, so I am rash in my attack. The Ebony Blade rings out, and I sprint head-on at him. He does not have time to charge up another spell, and so my blade cuts through him without any resistance. The fool does not even wear armor.

The second he falls, I am unclasping the Amulet of Kings from his neck. The world is rocking violently, sights around me melting and dissolving. Much like a Gate after I've closed it, I'm blinded, sucked into the end of a realm, plummeting from it into another.

I drop to my hands and knees as the portal shrivels up behind me, gasping for air. I've done it. I've retrieved the Amulet.

When I look up, Martin is kneeling to face me, a wondrous sight after Paradise. All the anger I'd felt about his wedding before I stepped into the portal is gone now, with only the misery still lurking there.

But we are alone in the great hall of the temple, and he threads his fingers through my tangled hair with the same look he'd had out by the lookout tower in the snow. "I should never be surprised when you return successful," he murmurs. "Yet I cannot help but feel sick with worry whenever you are away from me."

I reach up and press the Amulet into his hand before looking directly into his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?" I'm dismayed to hear my own voice sounding so weak, but I have to ask him now, while I have the courage.

I do not need to elaborate. He already knows what I ask of, and he breathes in while he pockets the Amulet. "I only learned when Jauffre told me about the invitations. I don't wish to do it, but it's a marriage in name only. You know how dearly I love you-"

"But that does not make it acceptable." I stand abruptly to my feet, and he mirrors me.

"Of course it doesn't!" He is fervent now. "But all the Blades tell me it is the only thing that will cause each ruler to accept me. As Emperor, I _must_ have their allegiance."

There's no point in arguing with him, because he's right. I know it as well as he. I also know that what he said is true: he does love me- as much as I do him, if not more. But if these things would come to pass, it could only mean...

Feeling ill, I ask him in a cold, dead voice, "When this is all over, and you wed Narina and ascend to rule, then what will I become? Your…mistress, of sorts?"

All the color drains from Martin's face. He has ever been honest, so I know he will not adorn the truth with anything false and comforting. "In how I treat you, how I love you, no. In what citizens will believe, yes. Of sorts."

I'd been expecting this answer already. The two of us are aware of how we need each other, so going our separate ways after we seal Oblivion is impossible, inconceivable. If the both of us survive, we will have to be together. There is no way around it.

And so it comes to this. I will be the 'other woman,' a commoner the Emperor was ensnared by in the chaos of saving the realm, who takes him away from Bruma's own dear, brave, strong Narina. Old women will scorn me as I walk past, young women will gossip behind cupped hands, whispering of me, the tainted mistress of Martin Septim, following in his father's example with illegitimate children.

Martin's grasping my upper arms now, firm and adamant, warring with the image of the future in my mind's eye. He is warm and handsome and real, and he loves me. "I would never think of you in that way. You are my superior, the better part of me and the best part of my life. I know it will be hard for you, but there's no other way. It's true that others will misunderstand, or look down on us, but I swear to be with you every day telling you otherwise, showing you how much I honor you."

Stendarr have mercy on me. The future is becoming hazy, irrelevant. I wouldn't have my dignity, but I'd have Martin...and he is here now, unlike the disapproving stares and citizen gossip we'd endure. Was he not worth it all?

"No." The word is thrown from me, flung from out of all my own resistance.

He's shaking his head in disbelief, anguished. "Please, dear one. You-"

"I cannot," I choke out. "If there is no other way, then it will not occur at all."

"But we must," he replies in a soft tone. "Don't you see? Our lives changed when we learned of each other. When you met my father and began to seek me, you were a Black Hand member in prison. Now you are a hero to the Divine. I was a farmer's son, a mere monk, no one before. When you found me, I became the heir to the throne. In the lives we live now, in the lives we will have once this ends, we are a vital part of each other. We must."

His mouth is on mine now, and I surrender. Even if I won't change my mind, I want all of him for as long as I can before everything changes. Each moment with him must be enough to take me through the rest of my life.

He deepens the kiss, pressing me to him hard enough to take the breath from my body. I try to pull him back to me when he lifts his head, but he stops me with a finger to my lips. "Whatever happens, I won't leave you. If we're separated, I'll find you somehow, no matter where I have to look." His voice drops to a whisper. "So stay."

Instead of speaking, I reach up to lace my fingers into his. When he steps away and pulls me toward him, I follow. We walk out into the cold night briefly before passing into the hall leading to his bedroom, where he envelops me in his arms again and shuts the door behind us.

Just for tonight, I let him win, so that we do not have to consider the decisions we will need to make later on. Just for tonight, we can pretend that none of it need happen, and nothing: not other people, not leadership, not death, can end us. Just for tonight, I can yield to him completely, before war and politics can take him away from me.


	4. The Lasting City

I wake to the picture of the morning sun spilling into Martin's room, over the two lumps curled naked under blankets. He is still fast asleep, so for a long time I study each part of his face: his tousled light hair, the laughter lines relaxed, long blonde lashes brushing the skin under his hidden blue eyes. I keep shoving the thought away that at some point in the next few days, I may lose him.

We must all travel to the Imperial City to meet with Chancellor Ocato and finally light the Dragonfires. Even by horse, the journey is almost two days, so we must hurry.

I think this to myself as I stretch out lazily, my bare feet sliding along the sheets kept warm by Martin next to me. I lost count of how many times we repeated the reason we came in here, and there was no counting the number of times he told me how precious I am, how much he loves me, how beautiful I am to him...

When I turn to look at him again, his blue eyes are taking me in. "You're smiling," he remarks sleepily.

"Mmhmm."

"Any reason other than the most apparent ones I can think of?"

"No. Just those." I shift over to him and kiss a trail across his bare shoulder. "I'm glad you slept for so long, Your Majesty. Our two days' ride will not allow for such long periods of rest."

I feel his muscles tense against me even as a warm hand trails along my side. "Oh no. What time is it?"

"Regardless of the time," I say against his skin, "do you really care what it is at the moment?"

As I continue, he breathes out. "No. I have certain things to attend to this morning before I can leave the room."

"Anything I can help you with, Majesty?"

He pulls the blankets up around us. "One or two, yes. But there's no need to rush these tasks."

* * *

I stand outside with the other Blades waiting for Martin. He has a great deal of armor to put on, and I take the time to appreciate the chilly air. I may never return to this place: I wish to remember each wonderful event in and outside the Temple. Finally, Baurus comes out and stands in the line of Blades, and their swords rise.

The last Septim exits the Temple in full gold armor, the Amulet of Kings glowing blood red around his neck. He looks over his Blades with a keen eye and passes them grandly, head held high.

I see his eyes flick over to me, and I can't help but give him a mischievous smile. He has to jerk his head away before he grins back at me. It would be a terribly silly expression for an Emperor.

* * *

As one, Martin and I breathe in sighs of relief when we cross the white bridge. The Imperial City is still safe, citizens going about their normal business as we head for the Imperial Palace. We had feared we'd encounter the worst when we arrived.

Against the white stone, Martin's armor is practically blinding me. He'd been a typical pale monk when I found him. Now, he certainly fits the part of a battle-ready Emperor.

Aware of me as always, he turns his head to look down at me. "Is something amiss, my lady?"

"Not at all. I was simply admiring how impressive you are."

"Perhaps you should check your reflection then, dear one. You look like a champion of the Nine straight from the writings of a Scroll."

I can't fight the smile tugging the corners of my mouth. My silver armor is not nearly as eye-catching as Martin's, true, but it is light and flexible, and Arcturus polished it until it shone. Quite a change from the rags of an ex-assassin in a cell.

We make quite the pair as we walk through the city. Residents are gawking at us, whispering behind their hands, pointing from across the street, as our large company arrives at the Palace. It is almost possible to pretend that we are merely returning for Martin's acceptance and coronation in a peaceful city, our troubles gone. Almost.

Ocato greets us warmly, and Martin hardly conceals his surprise. He'd been certain that Ocato would look down on him due to his being an illegitimate child. Instead, Ocato bows low. "We have been expecting you. The full Council has already considered the matter of your claim to the throne in detail." To our astonishment, he sinks to a knee. "Martin Septim, on behalf of the Elder Council, I accept your claim to the Imperial throne. We should arrange the coronation ceremony as soon as-"

The doors to the chamber burst open, and a frenzied guard runs inside, sword in his trembling hand. A large group falls in behind him.

"Chancellor Ocato! The city is under attack! Oblivion Gates have opened and daedra are inside the walls! The Guard is overwhelmed!"

For the briefest second, I lock eyes with Martin before Ocato is speaking.

"Highness, what are your orders? Shall the Guard fall back to the Palace?"

"No," the Emperor replies instantly. "If we let ourselves get besieged in the Palace we're doomed. We must get to the Temple of the One immediately!"

"As you command, sire. Guards- form up and protect the Emperor! To the Temple!"

There are guards pushed up against the entrance when we come out. Four daedra, armed with maces, are banging against the doors, trying to get in.

I bury an arrow in one red neck as the doors fly open, and two stumble over his body before they swing at the guards in their way. They are so powerful that the guards' heavy Palace armor becomes dented with the hits from their maces. Baurus and Steffan kill another two in the time it takes for me to bring up another arrow, and so I take out the last.

It is turmoil outside. Citizens run panicked into their homes, some chased by daedra, some in too much shock to move. There is no time to help them, any of them. We must light the Dragonfires.

The two of us rush into the Temple district, guards and Blades following, to a scene that could send me into a true panic if I had the time. Two vicious Gates are open around the circle of the Temple of the One, with creatures coming out in droves. But the most hopeless aspect of all is a Voice- a Voice of a Prince who is shouting above all the disorder, reveling in His victory. The roars of the creatures of Oblivion are deafening.

"We're too late!" Martin shouts. "Mehrunes Dagon is here! Lighting the Dragonfires will no longer save us…the barriers that protected us from Oblivion are gone…"

I'm searching my mind frantically- there has to be a way. "Can we cast him back into Oblivion?" I shout back.

"I don't see how. Mortal weapons may hurt him, but now that he's physically here in Tamriel, they have no power to actually destroy him."

I'm looking into his face, just the two of us with the world weighed on our shoulders, responsible for the fate of the plane we stand on. Julianos help us. There must be a way, because extinction is the only other possibility.

"What about the Amulet?"

"…Wait. Yes. The Amulet was given to mortals by Akatosh…it contains His divine power…" Martin's palms press into his forehead. "But how to use this power against Dagon? The Amulet was not intended as a weapon."

Suddenly, his expression shuts down. His hands drop to his sides, his eyes blank and voice suppressed. "I have an idea. One last hope. I must reach the Dragonfires in the Temple of the One."

"But," I protest, "you said it was no use-"

"You'll just have to trust me," he replies in that same strange, empty voice. "I now know what I was born to do. But I'll need your help. I have to get past Mehrunes Dagon somehow."

There's a blazing fire of determination in his eyes now, a desperation clinging there, and there's no time for questions. Gasping in a breath, I nod. "I'll get you to the Temple."

He gives me a weak smile. "Then I'll do the rest."

"Stay behind me." My bow is drawn, and I fire off three quick shots into the heads of daedroths. The men at our backs charge forward. There's only a few yards between us and the Temple, but it might as well have been a mile. I take off, hearing Martin draw his sword behind me, to round the corner.

When the walk expands in front of us, it is blocked by an enormous red body stretching two hundred feet to the burning sky above. As my eyes travel up, I meet the yellow, fervent eyes of Mehrunes Dagon himself. Each of His four arms holds a different wicked weapon, and His face radiates delight.

The Daedric Prince of Revolution sees the tiny, insignificant mortals below Him and recognizes us. The shock is only starting to wear off as His voice rends the air. "You…"

I scream at Martin to go, to get to the Temple, and I'm running behind him drawing up my bow as the Lord laughs low in His throat, shaking the ground beneath us. I have one powerful arrow- the Arrow of Inferno, which I'd saved for a foe worthy, and I pull the string back as far as I can. As Martin runs toward the door, the door that Mehrunes Dagon blocks, I let it go, filled with fire and light and Shadowrend's speed, and it flies through the Daedric Prince's leg. The pain won't stop Him, but it's enough to bring His body stumbling back, and that's when Martin and I burst into the Temple of the One and shove the stone door closed behind us.

It's deceptively quiet in the dark room, the stillness jarring after the great battle outside. The both of us take a few precious seconds to bend over and breathe, still our frantic heartbeats, prepare for what is to come.

I'm looking up at him in the dark, and when I see the despair etched in his face, I know what he intends to sacrifice.

"No," I say instantly.

"I do what I must do," he states firmly. "I cannot stay to rebuild Tamriel with you. That task falls to others."

"Martin," I say in a dangerous, threatening tone. "No."

But he's shaking his head. "I must go. The Dragon waits."

"Please-"

His arms wrap around me, and he's pulling me into a tight hug, kissing my cheeks and forehead and hair. Already I'm shaking, pleading with him not to do whatever it is he's planning, that we'll think of another way. I'll physically hold him back if I have to.

His mouth presses into mine, and I cling to him, all my strength focused on keeping him here, trying to think of anything that will dissuade him from this. When he draws back, he whispers a word in my ear. An Ayleid word.

A spell.

My muscles lock up, my limbs stiff. I can't move.

"Martin!" I scream as he runs away from me to the center. "No! Please!"

He's in the center, watching me, his blue eyes bright, when the ceiling of the temple caves in. Four huge hands are tearing, ripping apart the very stone, and Dagon's terrifying face looms down at mortal man.

Rays of white light shoot out from Martin's Amulet, streaming up to the sky. I'm still screaming, pleading for him to come back, when his whole figure becomes white. For one second, I'm blinded, then in the next, his figure has become a giant beacon of pure fire, wings and long neck and a great Shout that trembles the earth. Akatosh.

I watch, numb and soundless, as Mehrunes Dagon swings an axe at the burning beast, who draws back and springs forward to sink Its teeth into the Prince's neck. As Dagon slashes forward at the Dragon, the roars of the great creatures deafen me. With one final surge, Akatosh jets a stream of fire from His mouth to set Dagon ablaze, and the Prince flails...falls back... disappears- banished from Tamriel forever.

The spell is gone from my limbs, but I am still paralyzed. Akatosh rears up, and with another thunderous Shout, turns to stone. The sky goes from violent orange to a soft, tentative blue as I fall to my knees. The silence is earsplitting. And for a long, long time, I'm just staring up at the great stone figure of the Dragon.

I don't know how many minutes, hours, ages have passed. There's a voice echoing in the room now, breaking the heavy quiet. I don't even turn my head. Then there are hands pulling at me, hoisting my unwilling body up, shaking me, til my blurred vision focuses on Chancellor Ocato's jubilant face, surrounded by guards who are pulling me to my feet. My senses are just aware enough to see that as he watches me, speaks to me, his face falls from joy to concern.

"Child, can you even understand me? We've won! I saw the fire-dragon creature and just couldn't believe my eyes, but Mehrunes Dagon is gone! You two have done it!"

_You two._

"What happened? Where is Martin? I must congratulate him! We've won!"

_Martin._

He's waiting for my answer, eyes searching the room, utterly confused as to why I'm not celebrating, why I'm not talking or listening. Where is my voice? I must speak. I must simply say the words; make the sounds, without thinking of the meaning.

"Martin is gone," I manage in a half-whisper. Just sounds, that's all they are…

"Gone? What do you mean, gone? We saw the Temple dome explode, the avatar of Akatosh appear…that was Martin?"

"Yes." My mouth makes the familiar movements; my voice manages to form the words. "He shattered the Amulet…"

The chancellor's voice is filled with understanding now. "The joined blood of kings and gods. The Amulet of Kings, the divine power of Akatosh…"

"…and Martin's blood, too…"

"Then," he says slowly, "Martin is gone…"

The weight of this is dangling threateningly over me, ready to bear me down to the ground any second, unless I can keep it at bay, just for a while longer. I mustn't think of it now. I mustn't.

"But the Gates of Oblivion are sealed forever," the Chancellor continues, in a truly poor attempt to comfort me. "Mehrunes Dagon and his ilk can never threaten Tamriel again. Martin is dead." I flinch, but his cruel words continue. "But he died an emperor, and a hero to rival Tiber Septim. This victory is not without cost. We've lost Martin Septim. What an emperor he might have made!"

Everything Ocato says afterward dissipates into a fog of background noise. The world is spinning around me, my lungs and heart are seizing up. I must stay standing, my mind repeats endlessly. I must stay upright, for fear of lying down and never moving again.

There is applause from the guards, because Ocato has given me some title or other. The only focus of my existence is breathing in and out, my legs making me stand, waiting for him to stop talking so I can escape. After what seems to be years, everyone is patting my back with congratulations and reassurances, and I'm moving, careful and deliberate, away. Away from the Dragon, away from the wreckage of the closed Gates, away from a memory that will replay in my head for the rest of my life, however long that will be. There's only one place it will be possible for me to retreat to before the looming weight hits me, and by the time I arrive at my ratty old home in the Waterfront District, I'm practically crawling. Just a few seconds more. I'm almost there.

Then I'm in the tiny shack, warm and familiar and waiting to house my pain. It's as if the heartbreak is a tangible force, filling up the space, until it threatens to burst through the walls. All I can do for the longest time is lie curled in the ugly bed, my fists twisted in the blankets, tears streaming unceasingly out of my eyes until I swear there's no water left in my body. I'm crying out to him in my head, and then aloud, until there is nothing but dry, heaving sobs and my voice in the tiny room.

I don't know how long I stay like this, in a mangled heap of bloody armor. I'm swept off into welcome unconsciousness at a few points, and each time I wake, I don't know if it's day or night. Stretches of time are meaningless, and little human things like eating or drinking are irrelevant.

Then, after the eternity, in the midst of the blackness of my sleep, I'm standing in the Stars. In the distance are great Halls, surrounded by changing lights and full of heroes and legends. As I watch my surroundings, a few of the stars above me begin to connect with rays, stretching to others nearby, until I see a Sign. For the first time since I'd entered the Temple of the One, I don't feel despair.

When I wake to the dwindling fire in the house, I can't remember what the Sign was. I wasn't familiar with it. It felt almost…new, as if something had been rewritten or changed.

In the light, however, reality sets back in. I struggle to keep from cursing the gods, feeling hatred for the aedra who guided us into all this. I try to reassure myself that we'd won, and that Tamriel is safe. But always, there is the knowledge that this loss could have been avoided.

Martin…Martin could have been Emperor now, reluctant in his great leadership, joyous in love, leading a recovering land into rebuilding again. If the gods had changed something, just given us a little more time, I could be lying beside him now in the Palace, victorious and triumphant, reveling in our great burden gone.

Instead, he is gone, and he won't come back. The pain is so great my mind is telling me not to breathe, but I have to force myself to breathe anyway.


	5. The Sanctuary After

I sit at the top of Fort Nikel overlooking the city, dressed in my old Black Hand robes. I know the march is beginning when I spot torches twinkling in the distance, a gradual chain of light that stretches far along the main bridge. It seems as though all of Cyrodil is here.

There are so many in the procession that I can hear the songs begin, thousands of voices rising up in unison to mourn the passing of a great savior, even from where I sit. The night is hushed, as though nature itself pays tribute to Martin's funeral. The line begins to move across the entire expanse of the city, torches rising as the praises grow. I can even see distant lights from farms near the city.

My hands are shaking so badly I can't strike the flint to spark my torch. As the songs grow even louder as more join in, I'm sobbing, clutching at my light, breaking the silence of the world around me.

By the time the songs and weeping are done and the march complete, the sun is beginning to paint the sky a blushing pink in the distance. Tamriel's mourning isn't complete for Martin, nor the Septim line, but rebuilding will begin now that his tale is brought to a close in the Scrolls.

For days, I wander the forests, avoiding towns and farms. No one is around to congratulate me, to call me Champion, to praise the great sacrifices Martin and I made for their good. I cannot be happy about what happened yet, and I cannot show that to the grateful people who are alive because of what we did. I cannot give praise to the gods for our accomplishments. For now, the loss is the only thing I've gained.

I know I won't be hidden from the Nine here, for even in the wilderness I am in the Halls of one of the Divine. But this is the closest to escape I can find.

Finally, eventually, I muster up the courage to go to the Imperial City again. I speak with the Chancellor about the state of rule in Cyrodil, endure well-meaning citizens thanking me, and spend a few long hours looking up at the great stone figure of Akatosh, the memorial of what occurred. I have to ensure that no one will need me.

I leave for the three days' journey to Skingrad primarily because I don't have anywhere else to go. My life was centered around Martin and the people I had to save ever since the old Emperor let me out of prison. Now that all these things are gone, there isn't a 'way things were' to go back to.

I find quietude amongst the dense woods as I stray from the road. I suppose on a subconscious level I've been searching for Martin on these long walks, even though I know he's not here any longer. But I'm ready now after all these days. My voice, though steady, is hardly more than a whisper.

"Stendarr, God of Mercy, I praise You for allowing me to help in the Divine's great plan, despite my past sins. Julianos, God of Wisdom and Logic, You granted us the understanding needed to hold back Oblivion; our own minds could not have found a way. Zenithar, God of Work and Commerce, You gave Martin and I the strength to keep working despite our weariness. Kynareth, Goddess of Nature, You gave me resources for shelter and sustainment in all my travels in Your Halls."

I take a moment. These next prayers would be more difficult. "Tiber Septim, God of War and Governance, Your line brought a truly great legend into this world. Mara, Goddess of Love, and Dibella, Goddess of Beauty, t-thank you for the brief time Martin and I had. I never thought I'd feel what I did in my lifetime; because of You, I was able to seek joy and inspiration in the mysteries of love. Arkay, God of Life and Death, I ask for forgiveness for the bitterness I feel at Martin's death and thank you for the life you gave him. And Akatosh, Dragon God of Time, You have foreseen all that would occur, and I humble myself in the great design of Your plans."

I go still, my feet treading quietly on the rich grass at my feet. It had been as hard as I'd known it would be, but now that I've acknowledged Them and my part in the histories, I feel that I'm finally done.

Something strange is happening to the woods the farther I walk. There is a gradual shift in the things I see, the grounds I step on altering under my feet. In a few moments, the world I'm in has changed completely.

There are colors I have no name for in the blooms, the trees stretching taller than any tower I've seen, otherworldly people I only recognize by storybook illustrations in great green fields. But there's a woman walking toward me more gloriously beautiful than I thought possible, and I don't recognize her in feature, but in what she is.

Her skin is a soft brown, black hair pooling at her feet, and her long limbs carry her effortlessly across the grasses as large doe eyes watch me. But it is her wings, feathered in grays, whites, blacks and browns of every shade and more, that define her. Kynareth herself is approaching me.

Though I am not exactly frightened, there is no closer emotion I can name that would describe it. I can only think to kneel at Her bare feet when She stops in front of me.

"Rise, Champion." Her voice carries the rustle of leaves and the flow of water, and I obey.

Her wings flutter. "You have followed Me for a great deal of your life, though you may not have always acknowledged Me." She gestures toward the forest with a slender hand. "You've wandered My Halls, used My resources, made your shelter, your haven, in My House many times. You've protected My children and guardians by closing the Gates that bring fire and evil into My Sanctuary. You've followed Akatosh and served the Nine well. So, for all your sacrifice and service to the Divines, We have found a suitable reward for you, as all heroes in the histories who have taken on the great tasks the aedra give. You have become one of those who intervene on Our behalf, and We see that this greatness cannot be borne without suffering."

There are a thousand melodies of each songbird behind Her speech, rainfall and snow trickling through syllables, and Her words carry the wisps of the faintest of hopes. I dare not give the thought attention, for fear it will dissolve if I imagine it, but the thread of it is there.

"Come, Champion."

I follow the Goddess through woods that seem familiar. It's as though I'm walking the same paths of Cyrodil's open air I always have, but from behind a different set of eyes.

Kynareth's words are the breeze that shift the clouds, translating to language my mortal understanding can comprehend. "The reward you've earned is mirrored in another, and We shall see both attained. You are almost there."

We're climbing up a hill now, and as the crest comes closer, I'm not listening to the sounds of the birds in the trees, or aware of Kynareth's beauty beside me. All my being is honed in on one point- one infinitesimal chance- and that chance is above the crest.

Then, at the top, the slope down leads to an expanse of open green that waves as the wind flows over it, and there's a figure at the bottom. Looking up. Waiting for me.

Martin.

I'm running down to fly into his open arms. At last, at long last, as I'd dreamed since he let me go in the Temple, he's holding me again in just the way he had then, but the despair is replaced with the feverish gladness of finding me. I spend moments pulling him to me as tightly as I can, doing nothing but breathing him in and allowing myself to believe that it's happened.

This is the reward the Divine have given to us. We were separated for our service, and brought together again. The Sign that I saw was a law that was changed, just so I could rejoin him now.

His hands cradle the sides of my face, holding me close to him, kissing my mouth again and again. Neither of us speak: it is not necessary. He promised he would find me, and he has. And now, I will join him in the Halls of his forefathers, unite with the great heroes and champions of Tamriel, allow my part in the Elder Scrolls to end and for others to take their turn.

There will be time for the things we tell each other later. For now, this is enough.


End file.
